


Filling in the Blanks

by ead13



Category: Ni No Kuni: Wrath of the White Witch (Video Game)
Genre: "fixing" plot holes, Gen, all hail Swaine Prince of Snark, also omitted scenes that would have been nice, everything is pretty much about Swaine, some of this hits the feels hard
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-29
Updated: 2018-07-29
Packaged: 2019-06-17 23:50:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 17,397
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15472830
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ead13/pseuds/ead13
Summary: A series of "sketches" that take place between the major events of Ni No Kuni. Based on my wonderings about vague/unclarified details, what-if scenarios, and conversations I wish would have taken place to further develop characters. Sketches are generally unconnected to each other, random, and Swaine-centric (as I find him to be the most interesting character in the game).





	1. Sketch 1: Reflection in the Waves

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Right after Swaine and Oliver & Co. meet

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was one of the things that really bothered me about Swaine's introduction once I had played past the Hamelin arc: did he really not remember Oliver, Esther, and Drippy? Did he not recognize his own reflection? Surely it had to occur to him once his heart was restored, and surely it would solidify his desire to travel with them, at least for a time. This sketch was born to address that issue, and takes place after the introduction, but before they set sail. Spoilers: do not read if you have not finished playing through the Hamelin arc!

The man was waiting on the deck of the Sea Cow for his fellow travelers to return, his arms folded and his head bowed in deep thought. In a way, he was invisible to the world: faded and frayed clothes, poofy unkempt hair, a generous amount of stubble, slouching figure, and tired violet eyes that hadn't known a full night's rest in far too long. There was not much too see, and he could use that to his advantage when he desired it, sneaking unnoticed through a crowd and disappearing from pursuers.

Yet, for those same reasons, eveyone's eyes were on him. He looked like the kind of person no one wanted around, that no one could trust. He appeared a desperate man who had nothing and would take whatever he could get. His only real possession hinted at his trade, a well-maintained gun capable of picking distant locks with ease. This was also the only clue to how intelligent he really was, as he had made the thing himself what seemed like a lifetime ago. Truly, those that had seen him once knew better than to let him out of their sights again, for he was a thief.

These were all things he thought about while he waited, staring at his reflection in the water. It made his head spin, not because of how depressing it all was, but rather because he had seen that face in the water before, fifteen years ago. Of course, he would have realized it sooner if he hadn't been heartbroken for so long; things like one's appearance rarely seem important when part of your heart is missing.

Squeezing his eyes shut, he tried to conjure up memories of that day all those years ago when he had met a man with this face. He was...twelve, and still a prince of Hamelin. What had he been doing? ...Oh yes, he and his brother had been out practicing magic like they always did when that man, along with a red-haired wizard, a fairy, and a blonde-haired girl had showed up to fend off an ogre that was attacking them. He remembered thinking at the time how strange it was that the man seemed to know everything about him. He never could figure it out, but now, seeing the person staring back at him from the water, he knew: among those people who had claimed to come from the future, the man had been himself.

God, what a scary thought. If he had known at the time that the ugly and worn man making snide comments was his future self, the horror would have known no bounds... He had to chuckle at the cruelty of the situation. It didn't last long before he sobered up again. Actually, if he had known the man was his future self, he never would have left home.

That wasn't even the most important part of this discovery. The trio who had restored his heart consisted of a red-haired wizard, a fairy, and a blonde-haired girl.

How they looked. How they spoke. All of the gestures and mannerisms. He couldn't put his finger on it right away when he was introducing himself, but it was sitting in the back of his mind. They seemed so familiar, like old friends he hadn't seen in years, but it was impossible to have met them before. What's more, he was still coming out of the fog of brokenheartedness and grasping to make sense of everything. Now, recognizing the reflection in the waves, it made sense. They were the same group, and he had finally caught up to them in their original time. Combining realizations one and two, his entire path going forward was becoming clear. He would travel with them at least until they were transported to the past; it was destiny.

And that second realization led to a third, which caused a lump to form in his throat. The words he had so casually spoken as he left Hamelin echoed in his head: Until next time…In the future, in your time…See you then! Truthfully, he felt only guilt to remember. He hadn't been actively seeking them out, and in fact had completely forgotten about them for years now. Yet, fate had dropped them right in front of him, and that promise was now looking more like a prophecy that came true. The people that he had grudgingly come to accept as friends of a sort were back in his life exactly the same as the day they parted, only he had changed. Why did it make him feel so…empty? Being reunited should be a great thing, the very thing he had wanted, but now… They couldn't find out. They couldn't know that he was Gascon! What would they think of what he had become? He wasn't the same person they knew…

His thoughts were interrupted by a clamor at the dock. Those kids and their fairy were back, chattering excitedly. Seemed they had never been on a ship before, or some rot like that... He sighed heavily with dread as they climbed on board.

Before long, the ship weighed anchor and began its departure from the harbor. "We're moving!" the red-haired wizard, Oliver, exclaimed.

"Proper exciting, this is!" Mr. Drippy, the fairy, announced. Both Oliver and the blonde-haired girl, Esther, nodded as they hung over the railing for a better view.

"This is going to be fun," the man, Swaine, groaned, rolling his eyes.

The ship's captain overheard his sarcasm. With a smile, he slapped him on the back as if encouraging him. Taking the cue, he looked back at the trio, so naïve and so ready to save the world. Just as he remembered. He conceded a smile and moved closer to join them at the rail. This whole thing was annoying as hell, perhaps, but this was where he was meant to be.


	2. Sketch 2: Mandatory Dress Code

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Entering Castaway Cove with Oliver & Co. for the first time means having to follow the dress code...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't know how long it took for me to realize that Swaine actually had a kinda sorta swimsuit. I guess it was when I realized there was a second green chest in Castaway Cove, and I will not deny that I was pretty excited about it... ;) When I looked at the 3D model, I thought to myself "Hey, this isn't really a swimsuit, this is like his regular clothes, just fewer layers". As modestly as he is dressed, I don't imagine it was something he was keen on doing, so what would it have taken for him to follow the Castaway Cove mandatory dress code? Voila, the sketch was born. Enjoy!

Before heading to Autumnia, Oliver had decided to take on a bounty hunt on Castaway Cove's outlying islands. The experience working as a new team of three would be useful, and the guilders wouldn't hurt either before a long trip.

In regards to the first purpose, the newest member of the team, Swaine, had jumped right in, as if eager to prove he wasn't dead weight as he accompanied them to Hamelin. Then again, maybe he simply wasn't about to be outdone by some kids... It was hard to tell what his motives were, and as Esther pointed out, that was not surprising for someone of his "background".

Though she was not impressed, Oliver noticed how much easier it was with a third fighter. He was especially good at setting Oliver up with openings by distracting enemies. He had also managed to snag some great items for alchemy from beasties using his Pickpocket's Pistol. Esther wouldn't handle the items, muttering to Oliver under her breath that even if they were stolen from beasties, they were still stolen, and once a thief, always a thief. Oliver took them gratefully, and always made sure to thank him. The (ex?)thief would just scratch his head and mumble something in response while looking away.

They were now reentering Castaway Cove to cash in on the bounty. One look around, and Oliver remembered that they needed to change into the proper attire, even if it was just for a little bit. Esther agreed, always eager to frolic in her swimsuit. Mr. Drippy, of course, thought his swimsuit was quite dashing, and had no qualms about donning it. The only one who did not head to the dressing rooms was Swaine. He just rolled his eyes and folded his arms, tapping his foot impatiently while they changed.

Oliver finished first, popping out of the dressing room. He noticed Swaine had made no move to dress appropriately. "Hey Swaine, aren't you going to change?"

He scoffed. "Change into what? I haven't exactly got another set of clothes. Besides, we'll be in and out of the city; there's no point in going through all that work for five minutes, tops."

"Really, now?" a voice came from behind him, making him jump. It was the governor of the town, and he looked...unamused.

"Oh, hello Sir. We were just talking, and it seems my friend needs a swimsuit. Would you have any extras?"

"Your...friend?" the Governor asked, raising a skeptical eyebrow while looking at the wiry, disheveled drifter standing next to Oliver. Swaine scowled and averted his gaze, knowing full well he was not on the governor's good side after his rampant thieving in the town. Clearly, Oliver's association with someone like him was pretty unbelievable.

"Yes, sir," Oliver affirmed, completely oblivious to the look. "Would you have anything?"

"It's fine, Oliver. I don't need a swimsuit," he frowned severely, again tapping his foot in agitation.

The Governor was starting to look rather cross, but before he could say something, Oliver interrupted. "I know it's not your favorite, but the Governor has been really nice. Besides..." he looked to the sky, "You kind of owe him."

"I what?" he said incredulously.

"That's right!" a female voice chirped in. They turned to see Esther, who had finished putting on her swimsuit. She pointed an accusing finger at him as she walked over. "Even if you were heartbroken, you were causing him quite a lot of grief by stealing all kinds of things in his town!"

Mr. Drippy followed right behind her. "No denying that, mun!" he added, folding his arms and shaking his head, sending his lantern swinging.

Swaine clenched his fists and looked down. It was true, but damn, they couldn't let him forget it for a moment! Suddenly, he felt a hand on his arm.

"Actually, I was going to say that you were missing Restraint in your heart. The Governor had extra, and he was the one that gave you the piece that was missing. He helped you become better, so maybe wearing a swimsuit for him would be a good way to say thanks for what he did."

Hearing the boy's words, the tension he was holding melted away. That kid was something else...not the brightest, but for some reason he had a way with words. He sighed, hoping he was not becoming soft. "All right. When you put it that way, fair enough. I don't want your bathing suit, but I'll do this..." Shrugging his shoulders, he shed his green trench coat. Continuing, he slipped out of his shoes and knee-high socks. He apparently did not go without these articles of clothing often; his skin was a far cry from tan, to put it nicely. "Better?"

"It is," the governor admitted, nodding. "But you could still be concealing something under the shirt."

He inhaled through his gritted teeth, and in a bit of a temper, he grabbed the collar of his shirt and ripped downwards. The fabric was quite worn, and tore easily until the shirt flapped open in the breeze. If his limbs had been a bit on the pale side, well, this was a couple shades lighter. Drippy felt like making a comment about his pasty complexion, but thought better of it when the miffed man growled "You owe me a new shirt..."

"Really, Swaine?" Esther shook her head disapprovingly.

"All right. I'll get you a new shirt..."

"An orange one!" he interjected.

The governor took a deep breath and exercised his incredible restraint. "I'll get you a new ORANGE shirt, on the condition that you put that pistol in Oliver's bag."

This was the most vexing thing of all. "Now look, I don't go anywhere without this. Period. It is an extension of myself, if you will, the most valuable thing I own. I realize I don't exactly own much of anything, but that makes it even more important!"

"You've got to give it to the governor, mun, that thing IS a weapon and a proper handy tool for some thievery, en't it?" Drippy pointed out, squinting. It made Swaine seriously think about shooting him right then and there.

Again, Oliver played the mediator. "I'll put it in my bag and protect it with my life. Trust me?" The man squirmed. Dammit, dammit, dammit, anyone else and he would have ran off before the conversation even reached this point...

Inhaling deeply, he pulled the gun out of his pocket. Then, in the blink of an eye, he twirled it, closed his right eye, and fired at a green chest right over Drippy's head. The fairy nearly had a heart attack as he went flailing to the ground. However, the shot was successful, and the grappling hook brought back a carnation cake. "Okay, that was the only other chest in town. I'm done now." The Governor and Oliver just stared as he smirked and handed his precious firearm along with the treat to his young companion for safe keeping. He then folded his arms. "Satisfied?"

Oliver leaned over to the Governor. "Say yes!" he whispered. "I think this is a good deal..."

The Governor thought for a moment. Yes, considering the man's history, he was shocked that he had complied (albeit with attitude) to this extent. "That is fine. Thank you for your cooperation." As a gesture of good will, he reached out his hand to shake. Swaine stared at it, but all eyes on him were telling him to DO IT, so he begrudgingly did. The Governor smiled. "I welcome you as a citizen of Castaway Cove!"

"All right!" Oliver cheered.

Esther touched her forehead and closed her eyes. "That was painful."

"You don't have to tell me that!" he frowned. "And my biggest regret is that I only have ONE grappling hook; I would have loved to fire two at once, one for the fairy and one for you!"

Drippy and Esther glared, but Oliver giggled. "The look on Mr. Drippy's face was priceless!"

"Ollie-boy, I would have thought better of you..." he shook his head grumpily, dusting himself off.

"Anyway, come on. We still need to collect our bounty! Thanks a lot Mr. Governor, Sir!" Oliver beamed brightly. "Let's go, guys!"

As they sauntered off in the direction of Swift Solutions, the Governor could only shake his head and smile. Was there anyone that kid couldn't reform?


	3. Sketch 3: Two Novelties: A Gift and an Honest Day's Pay

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's been a while since Swaine had so much food and an actual bed :(

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally, this sketch was tied to "Mandatory Dress Code", but the sketch was getting too long and had too many elements, so I broke this portion off into a separate element. I like how it focuses on the two themes given in the title and looks into how the members of the group adjusted to including Swaine. Spoilers: Do not read if you have not gotten past the Hamelin arc in Ni No Kuni.

The bounty was quite good: 800 guilders for bagging the sea monster terrorizing the waters around Robinson Island. As usual, Oliver was the one handed the compensation, which he held onto for the entire group. This time, however, he carefully counted out 200 and set them aside.

"Hey, Swaine, this is your part of the reward. Normally we all keep ours together, but I thought you might like to have yours separate."

Esther leaned over and whispered in his ear. "You really think it is a good idea to give him all that?"

Swaine stared at the pile. This was more than he had ever possessed at one time since leaving Hamelin. Just incredible; so much money for taking down one creature. He should have started taking bounty hunts years ago. This gave him pause. No, he could never have done anything like this alone. He sighed and stepped forward, ignoring Esther's mutterings and taking out 25 guilders. "Keep the rest with the group's. I'll be right back; I need to buy a new shirt." Leaving them speechless, he turned around and headed to the merchants' stalls.

"Crikey, didn't see that one comin'. The thief's off to BUY something?" Drippy remarked after he was a good distance away.

Oliver frowned. "I wish you'd stop calling him that. He's no thief, not anymore. Besides, even if he doesn't act like it all the time, he's a really good guy when it comes down to it."

Esther looked a bit guilty. "I thought for sure he would make the governor pay for the shirt. I suppose I may have been kind of hard on him, haven't I?" Oliver nodded seriously.

Even Drippy felt a bit of remorse. "I s'pose he has helped us out pretty well, hasn't he?" Both he and Esther looked over to where Swaine was pointing at an orange shirt behind a stall. The merchant was eying him suspiciously and clutching her purse, as if the 25 guilders he had put down was a trick to lower her guard. It was clear even from where they were standing that he knew he was not trusted, and seemed almost...sad.

Esther raised a hand to her mouth, her thinking gesture. "I think I know what I should do... It will be nice, but not too nice. He did want to scare me with that stupid Pickpocket Pistol..." She grabbed a few guilders from the pile and ran off.

"What's the dab up to now, I wonder?" Drippy mused.

Oliver shrugged. "We'll find out, I guess."

Before long, Swaine returned with a brand new shirt in hand to where Oliver and Drippy were waiting, sitting on the edge of a pier and dangling their feet. "Weird. I haven't had anything new since...well, it's been a while. Stupid thing will probably be too stiff..."

He was so busy trying to pack the shirt in Oliver's bottomless bag that he did not notice Esther sneaking up behind him with a bright yellow swath of cloth. She gestured for her friends to distract the man for her, and Oliver got the message. "Hey Swaine, would you check this for me?" he pointed at something else in the bag.

"What are you on about?" Swaine muttered, peering in closer. In one smooth movement, Esther flung the sash around his waist. He reacted quickly but not quickly enough as she hastily knotted it. She gave a girlish giggle as she ducked away from his flailing arms, very nearly ending up in the water.

"What the hell was that about?" he demanded, staring in disbelief at the festive sash grasped in his hand.

"There, now your outfit is complete! You look as fabulous as the rest of us!" She grinned ear to ear as she struck a glamorous pose.

"Oi, nice choice Esther. Suits him nicely, it does."

The loner scanned their faces, studying intently. Were they mocking him now? He finally looked for Oliver's reaction. The boy was smiling. "It was just what that outfit needed. Esther does have a good eye, doesn't she, Swaine?"

Swaine knew from the first moment he had laid eyes on Oliver that he was someone that could be read like a book. He had a face that could not lie. Came from being the so-called Pure-Hearted One, he imagined. When he saw that Oliver found it to be a kind gesture, he felt more at ease.

"I suppose you expect me to thank you for applying your fashion sense."

The girl just shrugged. "I didn't imagine you would. I just knew you would never spend money on something so frivolous. So, I got it for you."

Wait...she had spent money on something for him? What was wrong with her? Was she sick or something? He scratched his head. "Then I guess I'm in trouble if I try and take it off, aren't I?"

"That's right!" she nodded emphatically. "Hey, if you want, I can do a better job of tying it on for you..."

"It's fine!" he interjected quickly, raising his hands. "This looks like something I would do." His response satisfied the girl.

"Too bad we'll be leaving soon, now we've got the lad dressed to the nines!" Drippy remarked.

Oliver looked thoughtful. "Well, I was thinking, if it's all right with you guys, we could spend some of that money on a night at the Cat's Cradle and some dinner. That way, we are well rested for the trip."  
"Sounds like a decent plan to me, Ollie-boy!"

"I'm all for that!"

Swaine said nothing. The idea of a nice meal and a nice bed seemed almost foreign to him now, despite how he grew up. When was the last time he had eaten something steaming on a plate, or slept on something other than the ground? He then realized that everyone was looking at him, waiting for a response. "So, what do you think, Swaine? You helped us earn that money, so you should have an opinion."

That too seemed strange. He had...done something to earn the money. When he had first left home, that had been his intention. He tried all kinds of work, but found himself suited for none of it. If someone had once asked him to design or fix a machine, he would have had no problems. Outside of Hamelin, however, no one cared for such things. All those years of learning in the palace amounted to nothing; he was either too small, too slow, too weak, or didn't have the proper training. The ship's crew only tolerated his attempts to help on board long enough to earn passage to the Summerlands. From there, rejection turned him to desperation.

Not six months later, having sold everything of value in his possession, right down to the boots on his feet, he hit rock bottom. No work, no money, no food. That, he believed, was the point for any man to turn to theft. He simply wasn't finding enough tossed in the garbage, and pride kept him from begging, so he began to pick off edibles in the markets. He didn't mean for it to escalate, but somehow it did. Within the year he began to snatch coin purses and jewelry from those that seemed able to afford it. The only way to avoid guilt was to justify what he did: he only took from certain people, only certain things, and if he was so skilled as to go undetected, he deserved to keep things.

His reminiscing of the painful past would have gone on, but his companions were still waiting for an answer. "Uh, Swaine?" Jolted back to reality, he shook his head. "I have no objection to that. But if we get dinner, I warn you I am not holding back."

"Nah, mun. You should put some meat on those bones!" The rest nodded in agreement.

"Come on, let's go then!" Oliver waved them on and they all followed, smiles all around.

That night, Swaine was true to his word. Even though his companions expected him to go crazy at the restaurant, their eyes popped as he put away plate after plate. He had, of course, tried to show some of his newly-gained restraint, but though the mind was willing, the flesh had grown quite weak. Between mouthfuls, he marveled how amazing fresh food tasted, and how many nutrients he had probably been missing over the years. How had he even managed to grow as tall as he had?

Esther leaned over to Oliver. "Man, he must have really been starving!"

"Mmm-hmmm! It kinda makes you realize how tough it's been for him, huh?" He looked sad for a moment, but then a smile returned to his face. "I'm glad we could do this for him!"

Later that night, he and Swaine crashed in the hotel room they were sharing. Esther and Mr. Drippy were sharing a room next door, and had already bid them good night. Oliver crawled into his bed and pulled out the Wizard's Companion for some reading. "Hey Swaine, do you mind if I keep the light on for a little while?" He got no response, so he peered over the book. There on the floor was Swaine, still wearing his clothes, face-planted on a pillow. "S-Swaine? Are you all right?"

He mumbled something unintelligible through the pillow, then realizing it hadn't done any good, rolled over. "Yeah, I'm fine. And yeah, you can keep the light on, it won't bother me." He gave a mighty yawn and closed his eyes.

Oliver was still confused. "Are you...going to sleep on the floor?"

"Yeah. To tell you the truth, the bed is too much. I'm not used to it. I'll probably sleep better down here." He opened one bleary eye and noticed Oliver looked worried. "Though, I will admit the pillow is a nice touch. Haven't had one of those in a while, and it'll probably help."

He was unconvinced, but there was no point in arguing. "If you say so, Swaine. Goodnight." There was nothing but silence. Sighing, he returned to the page he was on, trying to forget that his newest traveling companion couldn't even sleep in a bed because he had gone so long without one. About a paragraph in, he heard a mutter from down below.

"Maybe by the time we get to Hamelin..."

He looked, and saw his new friend nodding off, fingering the ends of the brightly colored sash still around his waist.


	4. Sketch 4: The Beast Within

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Out of curiosity, Oliver turns the Form Familiar spell on Swaine to see what emerges.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This sketch was inspired by the fact that Swaine's right hand familiar is not considered compatible with him. He is the only member of Oliver's team that has this problem, more than likely because the familiar was not taken with a form familiar spell. I forget which fanfic I read that explored this relationship with Gunther, but I have accepted as headcanon that a Hurly just smelled chocolate from a bag Swaine stole and started stealing from the thief! (If that was your story, please tell me and I will cite my source properly!) This may be the one time where I go against canon and make up my own rule for a spell; I can't find any evidence that form familiar can be used on other people. However, for the sake of the story, I'm saying it can, and that's that.
> 
> FYI I put a lot of thought and consideration into what his "warrior from the heart" would be. Besides making it match his compatibility, I wanted it to really represent him. Even though an automata would be the obvious choice, when reading the descriptions of different familiars, this is what stuck with me. Now, enjoy something lighter, as promised, because I've been putting poor Swaine through so much grief!

The ship's repairs were nearly completed by the time Oliver and crew had finished helping the Fairy Godmother and celebrated the birthday of the littlies. To kill time, Oliver suggested that the three of them (Drippy was cavorting with his old pals) should train a bit more before heading out to sea. The last time they had gotten on the boat, Shadar had appeared, swatted them around like flies, then conjured a storm to destroy them all. They hadn't stood a chance, and the image of his foe weighed heavily on his mind. He had to get better, or he would never be able to stop Shadar's crimes. Esther was quick to agree; she had seen some interesting creatures on the island that she wished to tame. Even Swaine, who as far as the pair could tell didn't like doing unnecessary work, agreed without comment.

The first creature they fought was a sprog-cog. Esther got her wish, and after fighting against it, it was so impressed by them that it allowed itself to be serenaded and tamed. As Esther's fingers danced across the strings of her harp, Oliver took a moment to study Swaine. He was panting, and his eyes showed an unusual amount of focus and determination. Come to think of it, in the battle, he had really pushed himself, calling on his familiar Gunther to fight and getting into the fray immediately. What was going through his mind? Could it be that he was equally perturbed by their quick and pathetic defeat at the hands of Shadar? He had cursed their weakness in the battle once they landed on the island…

Oliver's thoughts were interrupted by Esther's cheerful voice. "All right, what should we name it, Oliver? I was thinking that it looks like a 'Cogsworth' to me…"

"Sounds fine, you're the expert, Esther," Oliver scratched his head.

"All right then, Cogsworth you will be. Now, who would be the best person for you to fight for?" Esther mused. "I know automata are not my type… Oliver, have you ever used an automata before?"

Oliver had a slight idea what she was talking about; he had read about genus in the Wizard's Companion. There was something about each creature belonging to a certain family that shared several important traits. The rest of what she said was a mystery though. "No, I don't think so. Say, what do you mean by 'not your type'?"

Esther smiled, glad that someone was interested in her expertise. "Each person gets along best with certain types of familiars. I work well with Aves like my Drongo, Gogo, for example. I can tell by watching how you fight with Mitey that you are compatible with Milites. When you fight with a familiar that is compatible with you, you are more effective in battle."

"Oh, I had no idea! I guess it was pretty lucky that Mitey ended up being a good match for me!"

"Not so much luck, Oliver. You summoned him using the 'Form Familiar' spell. He came from your heart, so he should be a good match for you."

"Jeepers, that makes sense. So what happens when you are fighting with a familiar that is not a match for you?"

Esther closed her eyes smugly. "You end up looking like Swaine."

Upon hearing his name, the man snapped to attention, having previously tuned out her rambling. "What about me, now?"

"Yeah, what about him, Esther?"

"Swaine's Gunther, a Hurly, is not compatible with him. I've noticed it as we've been battling. His command is rougher, there's more delay. He simply can't bring out the best in Gunther."

Swaine scowled, looking seriously offended. "How dare you say that about Gunther! All this rubbish about being compatible is absurd!"

Esther didn't bat an eye. "I didn't say anything offensive, I'm telling the truth. I know about taming and caring familiars far more than you do. It's not that Gunther does a poor job, he just isn't reaching his full potential with you."

Swaine recalled Gunther, as if to keep him from hearing any more of this hurtful conversation. "That's it, I'm done. You and Oliver can train by yourselves, Gunther and I will go train somewhere else!"

"Wait, Swaine, Esther didn't probably put it in the best way possible, but it's not an insult, honest!" Oliver pleaded.

"If that's not an insult, what is?" he challenged, frowning darkly.

"Well, if you don't believe me, why don't we find you a familiar that is compatible with you and you can feel the difference!" Esther retorted.

"But how can we do that? Just give him a bunch of different familiars until he finds one that seems easier to handle?" Oliver wondered.

"We could, but that would take a while. I think we should use the form familiar spell on him to save time."

"The what?" Swaine exclaimed, looking nervous and crossing his arms as if to protect himself.

"You can use the form familiar spell on other people?" Oliver asked incredulously.

"Yeah, sure. My father used that spell on me when I was younger in order to find a good partner for me. That is how I met Gogo."

"So, I just draw the runes like normal but point the spell at Swaine?"

"I don't like where this is going…" he muttered.

"Yeah, that's basically it, from what I remember." She stopped and gave a wicked grin. "But before we do, we should take bets on what kind of familiar emerges from his heart. My vote is on Purrloin, or maybe a Turbandit…"

Oliver looked thoughtful. "I don't know, Swaine is really good with gadgets. Maybe his would be something mechanical like the Sprog-Cog?"

"Really, Oliver? Are you seriously going along with this?" the flustered ex-thief demanded.

"Well, it sounds kind of fun, and now I'm curious…"

"You and I both know that Gunther is the only familiar I need!" he insisted stubbornly.

Oliver nodded. "I know. You two make a great pair, even if what Esther says is true. Still, there's no harm in finding out what a good familiar would be for you. The more you have fighting at your side, the better!"

It was hard to argue with logic like that. "But…are you sure the spell is going to work properly? Not that I don't trust you, but…"

"Don't be such a baby, Swaine! Come on, Oliver, cast the spell!"

"Okay, let me just get out my Wizard's Companion so I make sure to draw the right rune. It's been a while…" Well, THAT was reassuring! While he dug around in his bottomless bag, Swaine's eyes darted around. If he hurried, he could probably disappear into the undergrowth…

It was too late. Oliver had his wand in hand and drew the signs with it as he read the page. With a flick of his wrist, he cast the spell towards his friend. A ball of light formed over Swaine's heart, and it shot forth a beam of similarly-colored light. "What the hell?" His jaw dropped and his eyes bugged out at the bizarre sensation, and Oliver had to wonder if he had looked the same way when he had cast the spell on himself. The beam of light began to form an orb, and inside a creature stirred. Suddenly, the light from his heart faded, and the orb seemingly popped, sending the beast tumbling out. It was…

"A Scruffian?!" Esther exclaimed, bending down to examine the canine-like creature more closely.

"Is that some kind of form of the Ruff?" Oliver inquired, also bending down to get a better look.

Swaine massaged the area around his heart, still a bit freaked out by the experience. "So, this is supposed to be a familiar that's 'compatible', huh?" He looked grumpy, and sounded even more so.

"Not only that, Swaine, but this is a sort of representation of your true self. That's why I don't get it…" Esther muttered, reaching down to scratch the Scruffian behind the ears. The familiar was not amused, and it quickly ran away from Esther and stood beside its master. Both looked at her and growled, hair bristling.

Oliver just laughed. "Really, Esther? It makes total sense. I mean, just look at them!"

"I guess they both yap a lot…" she grumbled, miffed by the Gruffian's actions. "Or maybe they both have fleas…"

"Or maybe we're both just AWESOME," he said sarcastically, looking cross.

"Either way, I guess Swaine is good with Beastiae, huh?" the young wizard commented. "So, what will you name him?"

"I'll have to think about that. Now, be a good boy and go meet Gunther. I know you'll get along well." He recalled the familiar to his creature cage.

"So, does this mean you will start using your Scruffian more often? I mean, he is a beast form of YOU," Esther asked pointedly.

Swaine shook his head. "I don't care what you say, and I don't care what kind of logic you have. Gunther is my number one, and that's never going to change. He's been with me from the beginning! To be fair, I'll use my Scruffian only slightly less; I'm sure we'll make a good team, and it's not his fault he was summoned because of some silly bet."

While his words made Esther even more vexed and started a huge argument between the two, they made Oliver stop and ponder. Swaine would stay loyal to Gunther no matter what people said about them making a bad team. The Scruffian looked like a dog, and he knew from his world that dogs were considered fiercely loyal creatures. The rogue did not like to talk, especially not about his past, and so Oliver did not know much about him. Still, Oliver couldn't help but feel like in some hidden part of the man, there HAD to be someone or something he was fiercely loyal to, it just hadn't revealed itself yet.

Following up on his instincts, he flipped open his Wizard's Companion to the page on Scruffians. Though small in stature, these creatures move very rapidly and attack with great ferocity, the guide informed him. He smiled. Maybe that had something to do with the look in Swaine's eyes while they trained. There was some secret reason for him to attack with great ferocity despite how he appeared. Only time would tell…


	5. Sketch 5: Rogue's Revolver

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Swaine goes into seclusion after witnessing the death of his father.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One of the biggest, most annoying blanks left in Ni No Kuni was between discovering the dying emperor and returning to the present. "Several days later" is all we get to tie those ends together, but so much must have happened during that time. This sketch, for me, is the heart of those few days. Swaine is broken, he's trying to come to terms with everything he has learned, and all he wants is to take his mind off of things with this project. Literally, the pieces come together.

A lone man sat rummaging through parts in the palace's engineering room. He had locked himself away in there, slipping in when no one was looking. Not that it was hard to do, seeing as everyone in the palace was in an uproar over the death of the Emperor.

His father.

He bit his lip, trying to push that thought to the back of his mind. He had spent all of the day before thinking about it, crying about it, and thinking some more. He was tired of the whole thing. That was why he was there, for a much needed distraction. No one knew, of course, because if they did, they would find him. Then, he'd have to talk. The thought of that made him cringe. It was still too soon.

Finding the appropriate drill screws, he closed the drawer and began the search for some lumps of steel. It was nice to finally have access to these parts. How many years had it been since he was able to tinker like this? In the last fifteen, he was only able to work with what he could swipe. Even then, most people didn't carry around mechanical parts outside of Hamelin. He could only do just enough to keep his current Pickpocket Pistol in top shape. On this day, however, he had unlimited resources, and one very specific plan: The Rogue's Revolver.

Thinking of it, he glanced over to where the plans lay spread across the drafting table. He couldn't help but glare at them. Oddly, he was torn between his desire to build the thing and to shred the blueprints while throwing the pieces into the fire. He wouldn't have minded those plans so much if his fifteen-years-younger self hadn't handed them to him two days ago with a patronizing attitude, insinuating the boy knew more than the man did. Of all the bizarre things, having a grudge against your younger self! He had never realized how obnoxious he was when he was a kid. Time travel to one's own past was complete and utter torture. People were lucky they didn't have to go through it the way he was currently. Of course, this was probably divine punishment for the life he had been living...

Heaving a frustrated sigh, he turned back to the task at hand. As painful as it was to listen to the brat, what could he have said? Coming from the future, one had to be careful not to change the past. He never even considered revealing his true identity to Gascon, the boy he used to be. He simply stood back, put on a mask to hide his true feelings, and watched as his past self destroyed everything he had: his life as a prince, the already weakened ties to his father, his relationship with his younger brother, his entire future...and for what? Remembering again, he clenched his fist and slammed the drawer shut. So he could "find his place within the empire"? So he could "be his own man"? What a load of crap! Those were the words his father had instilled in him, so why the hell did he use them like that when he never truly believed a word of it? Maybe he was just trying to put on a show so it didn't seem like he was hurting. And look how well that had turned out! His father was dead. His brother was named Emperor at age 7 with no one to support him. Later, his brother's heart was broken, and the empire nearly came apart under the countless stringent laws set up by the resulting shell of an Emperor. And he himself was barely getting by, becoming a detestable thief with a similarly broken heart who would steal whenever and wherever he got the urge.

The guilt was building inside of him again, causing his hands to tremble. He hadn't realized back then that all of those things had even come to pass. Now, standing there as a 27 year old, he knew exactly the damage that had been done. He had left to make something of the failure he believed himself to be, the failure he believed everyone else saw him as, yet only managed to fail at life even worse than before. One tear escaped, then another. He quickly wiped them with his sleeve. "Damn!" How were there even tears left to cry? Quickly, he had to focus on something else!

Fumbling, he reached for a screwdriver and removed his pistol from his pocket, beginning to remove a few of the parts to make alterations. Perhaps the only thing in his life he had ever been good at was this tinkering... If only it was a skill people valued in young princes! He could only get so far however without looking at the blueprints know-it-all Gascon had drafted. Scowling, he peered over for another look. He had indeed been missing one key part: a Hog's Cog.

There was no need to search for this particular part. For one thing, such an item did not exist at this point in time; Gascon was such a self-described brilliant visionary that he designed the piece himself. Secondly, and most importantly, he already knew where to find one. Reaching into his pocket, he felt the cool, rough-edged metal wheel he needed, though he did not remove it right away. Squeezing it in his hand, he remembered how he had come to acquire it.

There had been a skirmish in the palace of Hamelin not long before they were brought to the past. He and his...friends...were sneaking in in a way only he had been able to do as someone who knew every nook and cranny of the place. They were still caught off guard by a pig-tank of frightening proportions. With the help of Oliver and Esther (and a few Tidy Tears from Drippy), he was able to destroy the magnificent mech. The Hog's Cog in his pocket was a piece he felt compelled to nab before running to escape the guards. It now seemed that it was fate once again guiding him.

He finally lifted the cog out of his pocket, holding it up into the dim light. It was a piece of the puzzle that depended on so many others. If Marcassin had not found and used the blueprints he left behind to design the piece, if Oliver, Esther and Drippy had not helped him dismantle the tank, and if his current self had not had the eye or the resourcefulness, there would be no completing the Rogue's Revolver Gascon had envisioned all those years ago. When it came down to it, that was entirely the reason why he had decided to finish what his younger self could not instead of destroying the remnant of his past. Not to do so would be an insult to them and to the man he was now.

Ten minutes later, the final piece was in place and he was tightening the last screw. Swallowing, he picked up the finished product and studied it. It didn't feel any heavier, but would function with even greater efficiency and accuracy. He turned to see a wrench sitting on top of a cabinet across the room, and found a perfect test. Furrowing his brow, he closed his right eye and took aim. Would the plans he had drawn up and brought to life actually work? In that moment, he found himself afraid to pull the trigger, his index finger crippled by doubt. What are the odds it actually works? he thought. Then, he shook his head. No. Marcassin always trusted my ideas. I can't wimp out. Closing one eye again, he decidedly pulled the trigger.

Exactly as planned, the grappling hook came sailing out with extra wires. It locked on its intended target, and was able to retrieve the heavy object in a way the Pickpocket's Pistol could never have done, returning the wrench to its owner's hand. He simply stared at the gun in awe. He had done this. With help from his friends, he had pulled it off.

As he soaked in his accomplishment, he realized that only one problem remained: how would he use the Rogue's Revolver he had worked so hard to make? The gleaming piece of equipment, due to the very nature of its creation, seemed far too noble for the life of theft he had led. On the other hand, what was the point of making it but not using it? His thoughts turned to his new friends. He had only volunteered himself as far as Hamelin, with Marcassin being his only concern. Once that was sorted out, what did he do with himself? Sit around in Hamelin with a perfectly amazing weapon and watch his friends take on the very man responsible for breaking his and Marcassin's hearts and killing their father?

Father... He had spent all those years feeling his father had not cared about him because he did not have the traditional talents required of a future ruler of Hamelin, yet among the Emperor's final words were an affirmation of belief in his "black sheep" son. In the same breath, he had stated his desire to see him, his son that he trusted, carry out the important task of keeping the empire safe. What else could he do?

With a sad smile, he held out the Rogue's Revolver and whispered "Dad, I wish you could see this. I know it's too late to make you proud like I always wanted, but I still won't give up just yet. That's not the Hamelin way, and it's not the Gascon way either."


	6. Sketch 6: Between Brothers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Swaine has a heart-to-heart with the young prince Marcassin, for both their sakes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I felt like this conversation needed to happen between young Marcassin and older Gascon (a.k.a. Swaine). Once he knows just what his little brother goes through while he was gone all those years, he would certainly feel so much guilt. Despite what Esther thinks(!), he's not going to run away from this, not where his little brother is concerned. He just has to sort out his own feelings (see Sketch 5) before sorting out his relationship with Marcassin. The idea for Marcassin playing with the Rogue's Revolver to cheer himself up came from a fan art comic I saw on Pinterest and it just seemed like a cute thing for them to do.

Young Marcassin was wandering aimlessly through the courtyard of the palace, eyes glazed over. The seven-year-old prince was in limbo until his father's funeral the next day. After that, it would become a whirlwind of new duties as the next ruler of Hamelin, as well as intense training to earn the title of sage.

The day prior, he had spent with Oliver, Esther, and Drippy. Though he had not known them until two days ago, they had been with him when he had witnessed his father's passing and comforted him as best they could. Esther would sing and play her harp to calm him down, Oliver would tell stories of his travels as a wizard and share spells to occupy him, and Drippy was apparently quite the comedian among the fairies, earning a few half-hearted smiles from the boy with his antics.

Yesterday was gone, tomorrow loomed ahead. That only left today. Today never seemed to pass.

Feeling a dull pain spread across his chest, he ceased his pacing and sat on one of the stone benches in the courtyard. He had asked to be alone, but in truth he didn't want to be alone at all. More than anything, he wished for Gascon, his beloved brother, to come back. Esther had quickly volunteered to hunt him down and tell him what had happened, but Marcassin had refused. He knew that Gascon needed to figure things out for himself, and believed it would be selfish to ask him to return just because he couldn't handle things. No, he had wanted to be strong for his brother so he could accomplish his goal. Being strong was so hard...

Before he knew it, he was sniffling. He had never known his mother, who had died giving birth to him. His stern yet well-meaning father was always busy ruling a kingdom and offering guidance as a Great Sage; now he was dead. Growing up in the palace, he had had no real friends to speak of. Gascon was really the only one he could turn to throughout his childhood, and Marcassin looked up to him as if he could do no wrong. Even though he could be a pushy at times, he never doubted that his brother was looking out for him and cared for him deeply. Now he was miles away. The only ones with him now were Oliver, Esther, and Drippy, and they would be leaving soon too, as they belonged in a future time.

The loneliness was about to crush the young boy when something whirred through the air past his head. It came to rest in the branches of an apple tree, revealing itself as a grappling hook attached to a cord. Marcassin gave an involuntary gasp and jumped to his feet, roughly rubbing the moisture from his eyes. "Huh?"

"Impressive, isn't it?" a cool voice stated from behind him. The prince whirled around to see Swaine, the man who was accompanying Oliver and his friends. This was a complete surprise; he had disappeared ever since they had discovered the dying emperor. Oliver and Esther had mentioned their worry for their friend many times when they thought he wasn't listening. Why was he here? And…

"That thing you have...it looks like..." Marcassin stammered.

With the flick of a wrist, Swaine recalled the wires on his Rogue's Revolver, which returned to him bearing a ripe apple. "The gun your brother had, right?" The boy nodded, still speechless with shock. He knew the man had been using a firearm similar to Gascon, but something was different about this one...

Swaine read his expression. "You're right. It isn't quite the same. Here, let me show you." He took a seat on the bench and patted the space next to him. Marcassin sat, curiosity getting the best of him. Removing the apple from the grappling hook, the man shined it on his worn coat and presented it to the prince. Wide-eyed, he took it. The boy wouldn't admit it, but he had been too dismayed to eat much of anything in the last few days...

"Do you remember when Gascon handed me those plans of his for an upgraded revolver back on the Tombstone Trail?" Swaine asked. Marcassin nodded silently, taking a bite of the apple. "I've been working on creating a working model, and I do believe I have done a passable job." He then pointed out the pieces he had added, and explained how they improved the function of the thing.

Finally, Marcassin shyly admitted "I...don't really understand machines, or tools, or all the little parts. Gascon talked about it all the time, and he was so excited that I just liked to listen and watch the way his face lit up..."

Swaine blinked. Did he really used to do that? Uhhh, new topic… "You know, I would never tell him this to his face lest it all go to his already swollen head, but those blueprints...they were actually pretty decent for a kid. I was able to follow them no problem, and didn't even need to make any revisions." When the words came from his mouth, he suddenly realized the gravity of what he had so flippantly said: he had finally admitted that he was good at something and meant it! Even as a boy, his "swollen head" had been nothing but an act to mask his insecurities… He coughed, choking on that realization.

"My brother is amazing!" Marcassin beamed, ignoring his reaction. "He can build all kinds of things! My favorite was when he designed this tank in the form of a pig..."

At the mention of this, something clicked in Swaine's head. That pig tank they had battled back in their time...that was based on the model he had designed as a kid! It never occurred to him that such a thing was possible, especially not while they were fighting for their lives, but Marcassin must have actually had someone use those blueprints of his and create a full-scale model! Were they really that good?

Marcassin did not seem to notice his pause. "Gascon could never use magic even though he wanted to so badly." His face became downcast. "I don't know why he couldn't just stay and build more things. That was like his own kind of magic…"

Swaine was at a loss this time. "I...don't think he ever realized he had that much talent. At least, it wasn't the talent he was supposed to have…"

Now, Marcassin was confused. "Why do you say that?"

Swaine was stumped. How to answer this one without giving anything more away? "Let's just say...I know a lot about your brother. You know, from our time in the future."

"You know my brother from the future!?" Marcassin perked up instantly, eyes glowing bright. "Tell me, what is he like?"

The next words would have to be chosen very carefully. "He...has traveled the world and seen a lot of things. He worries all the time that he made a big mistake when he left you alone. He was gone for a very long time, and...he should have come back sooner." His eyes closed, feeling the all-too-familiar pangs of guilt gnaw at his stomach.

Marcassin seemed troubled to hear this. "But I don't want him to feel sad! He came home like he promised, even if it took a long time. Things were probably really hard for him."

Really? For Marcassin, was it truly that simple? It couldn't be. He had to know. The question had been eating at him for the last two days. "So, Marcassin...are you...mad at Gascon? You know, for not being around right now when you need him the most?" Swaine ventured, staring at the dirt.

Despite the intense desire he had been feeling to be with his brother not minutes before, the boy shook his head wildly without a second thought. "No way! I mean, I miss him so much, but he wasn't happy. Leaving was the only way he could find out what he should do. And I think..." he took a deep breath, "he was always so worried about making sure I was able to succeed that he never took time to focus on himself. That's why he needed to get away for a while." There was silence, then Swaine gave a slow chuckle. "What is it? Marcassin demanded.

He looked up with a small smile, his tired eyes filled with warmth. "You know, he was always so worried that he was getting in your way; he never would have imagined that you felt like the one in HIS way!"

Marcassin pouted. "It's not funny, it's true!"

Swaine got up and looked down, laying a hand on the young prince's shoulder. "I guess you're right. At any rate, you'll have to keep being strong for him. It's a lot to ask, but Gascon clearly put his faith in you." He shook his head smiling. "Now, I wonder…are you as good with a gun as you are with your spells?" He raised an eyebrow and held out the Rogue's Revolver.

The prince jumped to his feet. "I don't know. Gascon let me do a lot of things, but he never let me touch his gun, so I don't know how to shoot…"

"Heh, it's easy. Here, take it." Marcassin took the weapon with a sort of awed reverence. "I'll show you how it's done."

Before he could go on, Marcassin interrupted, tugging at his sleeve. "Mister Swaine? I don't know what I'm doing in the future, but I really don't want my brother to be worried like that. Will you please tell him that it wasn't a bad thing to leave? Even if it takes him a lifetime to find his answer, I don't mind, really. It was important to him." The boy's eyes shone with concern.

The man could only shake his head again, the guilt washing away. "I promise you, Your Highness, I will let him know. It will certainly make him feel much better. Now, are you ready to try shooting this thing?" Marcassin, feeling reassured, nodded emphatically. "Good, now first…"

vvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvv

"Look, I know it is horrible that his dad died right there in front of him, but this whole running off and hiding for two days now…it's just not something a grown man does!" Esther exclaimed in frustration, scowling and kicking at the path as they walked around outside the palace.

"Esther, don't be so hard on him! I know what it is like, and it is the worst…" Oliver defended, following alongside her. "You really don't want to talk to anybody…"

Esther sighed. "That's just it. He may be feeling horrible, but what about his little brother? Gascon from this time is out there somewhere and Marcassin won't let us find him, but the one from the future is right here. Somewhere. Doesn't he feel any kind of responsibility?"

"Aye, I agree with her on this one Ollie-boy. Even if he won't let on about being his brother, you'd think he could at least comfort the poor Prince. We can only do so much!" Drippy bounced along, bobbing his head in agreement.

Oliver looked down, somber. "I bet he just doesn't know what to do or say, especially if he doesn't want to give his secret away."

"That's another thing I don't get. Why is it such a big deal that no one know who he is? Wouldn't it have been much easier back in our Hamelin to tell us he was from Hog Heaven instead of being all secretive-like? Or that he could get us to the Great Sage Marcassin because they were family and all? And for crying out loud, why keep avoiding it now that we all know?"

"Maybe it was embarrassing to have fallen so low that he didn't want us to know how high up he was once." Esther mused. "He might not want Marcassin to see what became of his Gascon."

"Well, whatever his reasons are, we shouldn't judge him. We don't…"

"Shhhh!" Drippy whispered suddenly, motioning madly for them to quiet down. Oliver stopped in mid-sentence, and listening carefully, they could hear the sounds of giggling coming from the courtyard.

"Is that…Marcassin?"

"Jeepers, it kinda sounds like him. What's going on?"

"I don't know about you two but I'm going in for a closer look!" the fairy declared, inching his way to the corner of the building. One by one they peered around for a look, and what they saw almost made Esther and Drippy gasp. Oliver just looked on contentedly as if he had expected it all along.

There was the young prince, revolver in hand, squinting and trying to take aim at an apple in a nearby tree. Swaine was right beside him, trying to steady the boy's arms. "You've got your mark?"

"Yes, I think so."

"Close one eye. That helps." The student obeyed, inadvertently sticking his tongue out and causing the man to laugh. This threw him off, and he accidently fired without lining up the shot. The recoil sent him flailing backwards, but the man caught him and set him back square on his feet. They looked at each other, then at the tree where the grappling hook was wrapped around some branches, and finally they both began to laugh. "What's the matter, I know you could easily hit that target with a fireball!"

"I don't weigh enough!"

"No excuses, Your Highness! You just have to anticipate the recoil. Let's try that again." The prince nodded happily, his cares gone at least for that moment. Time had finally resumed for him.

The trio of observers cautiously pulled back around the corner and slid away some distance. "Should we go over there?" Esther asked.

"Nah, mun. That would just ruin the moment. Best to pretend we saw nothing."

"I don't want to forget seeing that, though," Esther argued, slowly smiling. "It's nice to see him being useful for a change."

"We shouldn't bring it up," Oliver stated simply. "He doesn't want us to see him as Gascon. This is him being Gascon. It is something just between brothers, not for us."

They couldn't argue with that logic, so feeling a bit better about both of the princes of Hamelin, they crept in the opposite direction.


	7. Sketch 7: To the Future

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Swaine's decision after the events of Hamelin.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was actually the first sketch I did, though I am ordering my sketches by when they would occur in the game storyline. It was absolutely killing me that we cut out on Swaine sobbing over his dead father, then next we see him it is like nothing has happened and no one will talk about it. I thought that it would be unlike Oliver not to try and say something to make him feel better, but at the same time I knew (and in my mind, so did Oliver) that blunt is not good when dealing with Swaine. So, here's the conversation between the two of them as they prepare to return to their own time.

The group began the trek back to the palace of Hamelin, Swaine leading as he always did in his hometown. The others held back, unsure of how to act towards him. They had passed a few days of mourning for the Emperor, during which Swaine (or, apparently "Prince Gascon") had not been seen. Since his return to the group, he acted as if nothing had happened. Still, for Oliver, Esther, and Drippy, it was hard to forget the image of him holding his dead father and sobbing...

"Ummm, Swaine?" Oliver called in a timid voice.

Oliver was not entirely sure how to do it, but he felt he had to say something, anything, after what his traveling companion had been through. Esther was convinced that they should drop it and leave it alone until Swaine was ready to talk, and even at that moment she was shooting Oliver not-so-subtle glances of disapproval. She was probably right, but it still seemed like pain that great had to be acknowledged. Swaine had to know that someone cared about what he had gone through, even if he wouldn't accept that vulnerable part of himself.

Upon hearing his name, Swaine did his best not to make a face, though on the inside he groaned. Here it came. He'd say something about feeling sorry for him, maybe some questions about why he'd been keeping secrets like that. Pity and/or prying; neither option was desirable and he had hoped against all hope that they would be avoided by sheer denial. Externally, he simply slowed his pace to fall alongside the boy and said nothing. He was relieved that Esther and Drippy kept a respectful distance in front.

"I don't think I ever told you why I came to this world to defeat Shadar in the first place, did I?"

"No, I suppose not," the rogue replied simply, unsure of where this conversation was going.

"Well, I...my mom died." He bit his lip and looked down. Even after all that time it was still the most difficult thing to admit. Slowly, evenly, he continued. "That's why I came to this world, to save her by saving her soul mate. She died right in front of me. I locked myself in my room and cried for three days straight. The only reason I ever left that room was because Mr. Drippy told me there was a way to bring her back. Mr. Drippy called me a Cry-Baby Bunting, and he was right; I didn't know what to do without her, so I did nothing but hide. I wish I had been strong like you, Swaine."

So that was what Oliver was getting at. Swaine didn't look up from the pavement, but he snorted. "Sounds like something the Lord High Lord of the Snarkies would say, doesn't it?" Still, despite the tone he took, he was confused. He wasn't strong; he had run away and hid for three days avoiding everyone so he wouldn't have to talk about it. Oliver couldn't mean that by voluntarily showing up two minutes ago he was somehow strong...

Oliver interrupted his thoughts as he continued. "That's not all. She actually died saving me when I did something...really stupid..." he murmured quietly. Swaine raised an eyebrow. "I wonder if she was disappointed in me for being so reckless. I wish she could see me now and know that I am stronger than I was then. That's part of why I want to see her again so much. I want her to be proud of me instead of seeing me as a kid who needs to be taken care of. I hope she...would be proud of me..." He trailed off.

He snorted again, shaking his head, but this time he looked over at Oliver. "And why wouldn't she be? I don't know how many people you'd saved before I met you, but I know for sure that you saved me. That's pretty good, I'd say." Underneath, he mentally smacked the kid for even suggesting that he had been a disappointment. Childhood shenanigans did not equal becoming a common criminal, no matter how hard Oliver tried to connect their experiences.

Oliver shook his head. "All I know is that it was the worst feeling in the world to lose someone so important like that." He looked Swaine dead in the eye with a look that was melancholy and sincere.

That's so like you, Oliver, to take the indirect approach. Don't just come out and say "Hey Swaine, I was orphaned at about the same age as you so I get it, he thought, amused. Really, though, Oliver had played it well. No pity, no prying, just understanding. True, his implied comparisons were quite a stretch, but for some reason, that didn't matter. From that round-about dialogue, he felt...a bit lighter, as if a burden had been lifted. For a moment, his expression became gentle. He set his hand on Oliver's shoulder. "I'm sorry. About your mom. But it'll be okay, you'll see." He then reached over and tousled his hair. "I'm not sure I understand it all yet, but we'll do whatever it takes to save her soul mate and get her back. Then you'll be together again, and she can see how far you've come for herself."

Oliver stopped. Had Swaine understood what he really meant by the conversation? It was always impossible to tell what he was thinking when he did not want it known.

Swaine noticed and stopped too, looking behind him. "Come on, we don't have time to think about that stuff now. We have to get Marcassin back to normal. Then, we'll need to learn some spells from him, and find the other Great Sage...there's a lot to do before we are ready to take down Shadar." His eyes narrowed upon uttering that name. The one who had broken his and Marcassin's hearts, who had killed their father. Foolish or not, he did not plan on letting him go without a fight; their jaunt to the past had made this very clear to him.

Oliver nodded and hurried to catch up. "Does that mean...you will stay with us once your br...once Marcassin...is better?"

"Is that all right with you?"

Oliver burst into a big smile that radiated from his heart. "I didn't really want you to leave anyway. I'd miss having you around."

The boy's response hit him square in the chest. For the first time in fifteen years, someone other than his brother... wanted him around? A dirty, penniless vagabond with a thief's hands? It took him a second to respond. "Good. I'll do whatever I can to help." He swallowed, trying to brush it off. "Now, we need to hurry. The sooner we fix Marcassin's heart, the better." Oliver nodded and set his eyes to the path ahead. Only then did he hear the words muttered under his friend's breath: "Thanks, kid." When he risked a glance out the corner of his eye, Swaine was looking ahead, but there was the faintest hint of a smile on his face. Though the missing piece of his heart had been restored some time ago, Oliver was relieved to see that Swaine's broken heart was finally starting to heal.


	8. Sketch 8: The Names of Princes and Thieves

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Swaine and Marcassin finally talk in the same time period and clear up some things.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One of the more annoying blanks for me to fill was the fact that after the gang returns from the past and Oliver fixes up Marcassin, he acts all chill with Swaine even though he knows who he is and he hasn't seen him in a ridiculously long time. I felt like "Dude, Marcassin, surely something is going on that you are covering up, right?" There needed to be a conversation between them, just the two of them, so here it is. It was also a chance to touch on Swaine's motivations for refusing to return to his original name even though the secrets were out.

"Hey, Swaine, is there anything you need to grab before we leave town?" Oliver called to his friend without looking up from his bag. The gang was preparing to head out on their quest to find Kublai after one more night at the Cat's Cradle, so they needed to stock up on food, potions, and other supplies. However, Oliver did not get an answer. "Uh, Swaine?" he looked up from his bag, eyes darting around the room. The man was nowhere to be found.

Confused, he got up to investigate. Swaine was not in the bathroom, or the closet. In fact, he was definitely not under the bed either. Had he gone across the hall to ask the others something? Opening the door to his room, he crossed the hall to where Esther and Drippy were staying, knocking quickly on the door. "Hey Esther, is Swaine over there?"

Footsteps were heard shuffling to the door, and in moments it swung open, revealing Esther's confused face. "Why would he be over here?"

"Well, he's not in our room, and I didn't notice him leave. Where could he be?" Oliver frowned, puzzled.

Drippy bounced to the door. "Oi, Ollie-boy, you expect to hear a thief sneak out? Besides mun, he's in his home town. Probably had business to take care of."

"Yes, secret business, like always," Esther rolled her eyes. "Even though we know everything now, it definitely wouldn't surprise me if he snuck out for some Gascon-related purpose that he didn't want us finding out about." She sighed. "Don't worry about it, he'll be back. Probably as soon as you fall asleep so he doesn't have to answer any questions."

"Yeah, I guess you're right. Thanks anyways, guys. Goodnight." They waved to him before latching the door. Oliver wandered back to his room, thoughts wandering. As he entered and moved to pull the door shut behind him, he paused. Instead of locking up, he left the door open a crack. Just in case. Then, he crawled onto his bed, propped himself up, and pulled out his Wizard's Companion for some reading. Hopefully he could stay awake…

vvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvv

Meanwhile, across town, a stealthy form navigated the streets with the ease that only a Hamelin native could possess. He avoided the main thoroughfares and kept to the dimly lit back alleys on his way to the palace. When he arrived, he stopped, looking up at the monumental edifice which gleamed cold, metallic light from the street lamps. He had had so much on his mind before, both in this time and the past, that he never really stopped to soak in the experience of being back home after so much time. The palace's outward appearance was exactly the same as it had been fifteen years ago, overbearing and austere. Of course, on the inside, this was not at all what he remembered; his father had been dead for years, the soldiers were all wearing that ridiculous pig armor his brother decreed as obligatory dress, and everything within those walls…well, it wasn't meant for him, it was meant for the person he should have been. After everything he had seen in his travels, he now thought to himself that it was a bit strange to have ever called a place like this home.

Snorting, he shook his head and entered through the main gate. The soldiers now knew him as Oliver's companion, and being that Oliver had saved Marcassin from his broken heart, they were quick to let him pass. Hmph, much easier than getting in the last time… He gave a courteous nod to the guards as he breezed past.

Just like the streets of the city, he glided through the hallways easily, as if every passage and corner were etched into his memory. Turn left to get to the dining hall. Further ahead and to the right was the corridor to the servant's quarters. Up the stairs to get to the library. Man, why did he still remember all of this? Focused on his mission, he simply pushed on straight ahead to the giant glass atrium at the center of the palace, and then further back into the royal chambers. Before long he found himself standing outside the prince's bedroom door. Taking a deep breath, he knocked.

"Yes, who is it?" a muffled voice called from beyond the doors.

"It's…Swaine, your Highness."

He could hear Marcassin quickly jump to his feet and rush to the door. They were thrown open at once, revealing the eager face of his younger brother. "I was hoping you would come back, brother!"

He had to smile. It was refreshing to see Marcassin happy again, like his old self. His eyes were fairly glowing with joy, and this made him appear even more like seven-year-old boy he had always kept in his heart. "Well, I do owe you a few words, after all."

"Come in! Can I get you anything to eat? Drink?" He inspected his elder brother from head to toe. "Some new clothes, perhaps? If we don't' have any in your size, I'll have someone tailor a new outfit immediately…"

Swaine held up his hand. "Don't go overboard on me. A seat will do, but that's enough." Marcassin seemed a bit disappointed, but beckoned his brother to enter. As he made his way to the couch, the man's eyes were unconsciously drawn to a certain spot on the floor… The memory made him wince.

Marcassin noticed. "I understand now that the fog has lifted, Gascon. You were there with me when father passed away. I mean, I had my suspicions when I was young, but I now know for certain it was you who came to the past all those years ago."

Swaine's eyebrows shot up. "You mean you figured it out?"

"I may have been only 7 at the time, but I was not stupid, brother. Why else would his death have hit you so hard? Why did you have the same weapon as Gascon? Why did you seem to know how everything would happen and what everyone was feeling as you followed us? I was pretty shaken up so I didn't see it immediately, but upon reflection, it was obvious. Besides…" he looked into his brother's face intently, "even if your appearance changed, I looked into your eyes and I knew who you were. All it took was that afternoon in the courtyard with the revolver and the apple tree..."

Swaine scratched his head, embarrassed, and averted his gaze. "Yeah, I tried, but I couldn't fool Father either. I still don't know if I am glad he knew at the end or if I am completely upset about him seeing the future me." He inhaled deeply, trying to cleanse the bad memories from his head. "So, Marcassin, if you had me figured out, why didn't you say anything?"

"Well, I get that you needed to hide your identity in case it changed the entire timeline," Marcassin replied, beginning to pace. "Going by that alias in the past was a logical choice. Also, it seemed that you didn't want me to know, so I didn't bring it up."

"I see. You were a fair actor, that or I was completely naïve."

"Probably the latter." He smiled, but then the smile disappeared. "But, honestly brother, there is one thing I don't understand: why do you continue with that alias now? I played along when we were all together this afternoon…"

"Thanks for that, by the way," he interrupted. "It was much appreciated."

Marcassin only shook his head. "Why? There is no secret any longer. Oliver, Esther and Drippy all know. I know. What's the point, then?"

Sighing, Swaine collapsed onto a couch and rubbed his forehead. "You just said you weren't stupid. Is it really that hard to figure, Marcassin? I mean, look at me!" He gestured to himself. "I left home to find my path, and look what I became! If anyone overheard us talking and found out that I was the lost prince of Hamelin…can you even imagine the shame I would bring to this family…"

"But Gascon, I love you!" Marcassin exclaimed angrily, taking a stand directly in front of his brother. His normally tranquil features took a stony quality. "Why should it bother me or anyone else around you if you didn't find what you were looking for and came back to us in rags? You did your best and took your own destiny in your own hands, regardless of how it turned out! There is nothing to be ashamed of…"

He squeezed his eyes shut, his words quickening in agitation. "You don't understand, I have everything to be ashamed of, Marcassin! You don't know what I did after I left Hamelin..."

"What are you talking about?"

"This so-called prince turned into a thief! A common criminal! I survived by stealing. I slept on the ground every night, but only when I was able to sleep, which wasn't often because I had to make sure I wasn't being followed by the city watch. I got caught a few times. I have the scars from the lashings to prove it! I couldn't have fallen any lower if I had tried, and all of that was before Shadar even found me and broke my heart." His voice cracked, and he stopped, roughly wiping something from his eye. "I will never understand why he ever bothered to do that; I was broken to begin with and certainly didn't need any help!"

His brother stood wide-eyed and speechless. He knew about the poverty, about the barely scraping by, but this information about being a thief… The thought of the future ruler of a kingdom resorting to lawless acts… The thought of the proud Gascon he remembered resorting to something so underhanded… Suddenly he understood more clearly the burden of guilt his brother bore. He could easily forgive it; it was caused by desperation, not bad intentions, surely! However, Gascon was always stubborn, and would have a much more difficult time letting his mistakes go, especially something as serious as this.

Knowing he couldn't stay for much longer, Swaine rose from his spot on the couch, never breaking eye contact with his brother. "Please Marcassin, don't ever call me Gascon. I don't deserve that name, it's the noble name of a prince. It shouldn't be sullied by being tied to someone like me."

"But…does that mean that you…won't ever…" Tears began to fill the younger brother's eyes. He had just found Gascon again after all this time, but having learned the darker secrets of his past, was he going to lose him just as soon?

Swaine put his hands on his brother's shoulders. "Don't get me wrong. Between the two of us, when no one else can hear, you can always call me 'brother'. That has not and will not change. If you can forgive me for being away for so long and leaving you here alone, I will make sure to do a better job of being here for you from now on."

The Prince threw his arms around him and buried his head against his shoulder. "Like I said all those years ago, there's nothing to forgive. I'm only happy you are back, regardless of whatever you seem to think you've become."

He squeezed him, closing his eyes. "Thank you… As long as I know that, I can keep pushing forward." He then pulled away. "You probably have this figured out by now, but I am going to continue traveling with Oliver on his quest to defeat Shadar. That bastard has a lot to pay for. Besides, I'm no good around here, not the way I am, and as my Emperor, I owe you my services." He broke his embrace and began to walk to the door. Without turning back, he waved. "Maybe if I'm still alive at the end I will have earned my true name back. Take care of yourself, Marcassin, and let me know if you need me. I'll hurry back, I promise."

"Be careful…brother…" Marcassin called softly, trying to hold back tears.

"And you…I know you. Don't lose any sleep over this, okay?" This time, he looked back to double check, sending a warm smile to comfort him. "Oliver will make sure I behave, after all."

Marcassin nodded, forcing his own smile. "Of course, Ga...er, Swaine."

"Good night then, your Highness. We'll report back once we have the stones for Mornstar." With that, he walked out, leaving the young man watching his back as he went.

vvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvv

He didn't have a key to their room at the Cat's Cradle, and as he climbed the stairs he anticipated having to pick the lock. It wasn't necessary. When he arrived in front of the door to his room, he noticed it had been left ajar. Well, that wasn't safe… He'd have to scold Oliver later. Easing the door open as quietly as possible, he slipped inside and locked up for the night. Only then did he realize he could SEE. The light by Oliver's bed was still on, and the young wizard was sitting upright in bed with his Wizard's Companion open in front of him. He was, however, sound asleep, head nodded to one side and breathing deeply.

"Damn it, Oliver, you didn't have to try and stay up on my account," he whispered to himself, shaking his head but smiling. He had to admit, right now, being Swaine wasn't nearly as bad as it used to be. Kicking off his shoes and tossing aside his coat, he crawled into bed and extinguished the light.


	9. Sketch 9: Phantom Pains

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Swaine fights his first nightmare, and it is not fun.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not sure why, but one of the things I wondered while playing through the game was what it felt like for Swaine to fight someone else's nightmare for the first time. I had this idea that there would be a phantom pain, a pain received from an old injury that flairs up in certain conditions. Not sure who is familiar with Lord of the Rings, but I imagined it would be like what Frodo feels when he gets near a Ring-Wraith after being stabbed by the Morgul blade. Anyway, it certainly would have made this episode a lot more interesting if it had been explored. And seriously, Myrtle talked about the darkness and the pain in Denny's heart, but what happened to her while they had their battle? What's more, what do those people who have nightmares have in common that other people don't? I wanted to draw a connection between Denny and Swaine's experiences that could explain it. Lastly, I hate it when people say Swaine was flirting with a 12 year old girl; I really believe that if Denny reminded him of himself, Myrtle reminded him of Oliver, end of story. Anyway, enjoy!

"Denny! Denny, are you in there? Denny! It's me, Myrtle! Can you hear me?" a young, blonde-haired girl called out worriedly, her forehead creased with concern. She stood before the front door of Denny's house, trying desperately to get her friend's attention. She succeeded. Slowly, by some invisible force, the door creaked open a crack. An eerie purple haze leaked out, causing Mr. Genghis to bark nervously.

Oliver recognized it at once. "Myrtle! Get back!" he warned urgently, grabbing her by the forearm and tugging her away.

"Wh-what is that?" she stammered, pointing at the door. Oliver paused, confused. Wait. She could SEE the haze too? That shouldn't be possible… The expressions of surprise on Esther's and Drippy's faces showed that they were likewise confused by her statement. The only one not focused on Myrtle was Swaine, whose normally half-closed eyes were wide-open and focused on the haze.

Swaine, until the moment the door opened, had been just as worried about the distressed girl if not more. Within moments of meeting Esther's soulmate, he had determined that, despite her strong physical resemblance to the songstress, she was entirely the opposite of his friend in that she was sweet, polite, and innocent. She very much reminded him of Oliver, and perhaps that was the reason he felt the instinct to help and protect her from whatever was worrying her. He was, as he proudly proclaimed to her unhearing ears, a guardian to those "poor kids". All of those intentions took a back seat once they discovered the sinister force at work; the haze could only mean one thing…

He couldn't bear to say the word out loud, but his face displayed pure horror upon recognition. "Not again!" he whispered, unconsciously bracing himself.

No one seemed to notice his panic. "It's another flipping Nightmare!" Drippy announced, flapping his tiny arms. The door now opened all the way, and the boy in question, Denny, limped out, dragging his left foot. He appeared to be a zombie, unresponsive to their words and eyes glazed over. As he moved closer to the group, he clutched his head and grunted in pain.

Swaine understood the overwhelming pain perfectly, as he had felt the same thing before. He was torn between his desire to free the poor kid immediately from this torment and to curl up into a ball in order to somehow protect his aching heart. In the end, he could only stand there frozen and speechless, caught in the grips of shock.

Myrtle acted on Swaine's first instinct. "Denny!" she cried, starting to rush towards him. Oliver put out a protective arm to hold her back. She by all rights shouldn't even be able to see this, but there was certainly no way she would be able to stand up to something as powerful as a nightmare… Before he could decide on his next move, Denny screamed in pain and a wave of darkness exploded from his chest, specifically from the void where his heart was.

Everyone shielded their faces from the force of the blast, and when they were able to look once again, they saw Denny collapsed on the now stony ground, with a ghoulish specter floating over him. They had been pulled into some alternate plane with a murky green sky and floating islands of rock hanging in the air. Oliver, Esther, and Drippy were completely unfazed by the change of scenery, having seen it all before. That left Swaine and Myrtle.

The former victim of brokenheartedness had gone completely pale, trembling and breaking into a cold sweat as he stared up at the phantom before him. The whole experience had left him barely able to support himself on his hands and knees. This thing…this was the same kind of thing that had once taken him over. It was never really explained to him why it had happened to him. After all, not every heartbroken person was possessed by nightmares; both Esther and Marcassin were proof of this. So why him, and why this boy? Before he could come up with some kind of conclusion, the nightmare emitted a high-pitched screech. This sound resonated to his core, and gasping with pain, he clutched his heart and doubled over so his forehead met the pavement. It hurt so much, just like the first time…

From his vantage point, still trying to claw into his chest, he turned to his right and noticed through half-closed eyes the form of the girl lying unresponsive on the ground near him. This otherworldly darkness…it had been too much for her. Seeing her out cold filled him with a new strength. Fighting the agony with all he had, he released his hold on his chest and pushed himself up. Where were the others?

They were busy fighting off the nightmare, seemingly unaware of how he and Myrtle had been affected. Esther commanded her familiars to launch elemental magic at the shade, while Oliver launched arrow after arrow of light. Damn. He was supposed to be helping, not lying around like this! Still, the very aura of this dimension seemed to sap his strength…how could he be at all useful?

Suddenly, the nightmare vanished into thin air, causing the team to scan the area frantically and the man to panic. Where was it going to reappear? The question was answered seconds later, as it materialized a mere feet from where he was, over the unconscious form of Myrtle. An easy target, the bloody coward! It reached a ghostly hand towards the girl… No! If he caused that girl to feel the same pain he was feeling… No, never! The pain was suddenly numbed by a burst of adrenaline as he leapt to his feet and lunged. He didn't have time to think about how he could fight the phantom, his only instinct was to protect the kid. He fell over her and shielded her with his body, bearing the brunt of the lashings. He didn't make a sound, but gritted his teeth as he took the blows. He was already in so much pain anyhow, what was a bit more if it could spare her?

"Swaine! Myrtle!" It felt like an eternity, but it wasn't actually very long before he heard the nightmare hiss in pain. When he risked a look, he saw that another arrow of light had found its mark. Oliver and Esther had finally relocated their target! Scooping Myrtle up, he staggered away from the distracted monster and left the area open for more attacks from his friends. Once far enough away, he collapsed to his knees once more, laying her down before he himself met the ground. It wasn't fun to admit, but he would have to trust them to handle this without his help.

There he remained, nursing his wounds with the potions he kept on his person, and keeping an eye on the battle in case he would need to protect Myrtle again. Once in a while, a ball of miasma would edge too close for comfort and he would vaporize it with a well-placed bullet, but the ghoul was never able to get close to them again. Soon, it wailed in agony as it melted into the floor, releasing a final cloud of purple fog. His friends had finished it off.

The blinding light that followed made them all squint just as much as the blast of darkness had, and somehow they awoke back in Motorville, all standing on their own two feet as if nothing had happened. Even Myrtle was wide awake, though looking thoroughly agitated and perplexed.

"Denny! Oliver! Oh, Oliver! Everything went dark! So dark... It was Denny's heart...I felt it. It was...crying out! He was in so much pain..." she tried to explain, words broken by her own disbelief.

Oliver turned to Drippy, eyes filled with concern. "Do you think she saw the nightmare?" he murmured under his breath.

"I don't know, do I? But it seemed like she could hear me a bit didn't it? Maybe she's more sensitive to these things than most..."

While they were having their side conversation, Swaine and Esther looked on as the invisible third party. Esther's brow was furrowed as she watched her soul mate trying to come to terms with what had happened. Swaine felt the same. "Dammit. It's hard to see her so upset and not be able to do anything about it..." He began to tap his foot as he always did when he was stressed.

Esther turned to look at him. He was genuinely upset, and after all he had done to keep Myrtle safe, there was no denying he was more than just talk. "Yes…but you've already done so much for her that she will never realize." She paused, embarrassed. "I'm pretty embarrassed that I didn't even realize what kind of danger she was in while we were busy fighting that nightmare. The last time this happened no one was near us when…" She stopped, eyes widening in understanding. Slowly, she turned her gaze to the man beside her. "Swaine…" she whispered. "How could I have forgotten…the last time we fought a nightmare…it was yours!"

He scratched his head sheepishly. "Heh, sorry about that. Now I know what a pain it must have been for you…"

"That's not what I mean! I mean, that just now, that must have been so hard on you! Why didn't we notice?" She bit her lip.

Worried Esther was not something he enjoyed, right up there with worried Oliver, worried Marcassin, or even worried Myrtle. "Don't sweat it, Esther. You had your hands full. It's my problem to deal with on my own, anyways."

She frowned stubbornly. "It is not your problem to deal with alone. NO ONE should have to deal with that on their own. Now that I think about it, you were pretty much collapsed on the ground. It must have been so painful for you to get pulled back into a nightmare!"

He looked down. "I must admit, it wasn't a picnic…" He laid his hand over his heart. "But it's fine now. Promise."

She shook her head. "Doesn't change anything. I'm sorry. And I know once we get this sorted out and Oliver has a moment to think, he'll be sorry too."

"Spare me." He rolled his eyes. "Let's just fix this kid up and get back to business. I'm guessing we need to find a piece of his heart to put him back to normal."

Their conversation was interrupted by an angry outburst from Denny. "What do you know about my heart? I didn't make the cut. It's that simple. And now, with my injury...I don't deserve to run. They'll all overtake me... They'll all leave me behind... And there's nothing you or I can do about it!" His eyes were still clouded fuchsia, and glared angrily at the people before him, but at the same time they threatened to spill tears that had built up inside of him.

Upon hearing these words, the ex-prince's stomach flipped. He remembered wondering through the fog of pain why he and this boy had been plagued by the nightmares while others were left alone. Those words….they were different from his own, but at the same time they struck a chord with him. Don't deserve it…they'll all overtake me…there's nothing I can do about it… Those statements told of the worthlessness, inferiority, and hopelessness buried inside no matter the collected demeanor presented on the outside. He and this boy knew a great pain beyond what a simple broken heart provided, even if it hadn't shown when they were "normal". That extra, inherent pain must be what attracted those monsters to their hearts!

Swaine swallowed hard past the lump in his throat and clenched his fists. "We need to find his confidence. Now. If we can take care of that much, I know Myrtle will help with the rest." Esther followed his resolute gaze towards Denny, and slowly she understood.

She nodded emphatically. "Absolutely. I promise, we will fix him."


	10. Sketch 10: Subtle Courage

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Swaine and Esther don't see eye to eye on a lot of things, but a close-call makes her reevaluate her opinion of Swaine.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There were three things I needed to address in a sketch. One was the fact that Swaine obviously got along well with Oliver, so did Esther feel less important to him considering their constant bickering? It is always about Oliver, what about their relationship? I do not ship Swaine x Esther if for no other reason than I am a young high school teacher and that age gap is way too weird. I respect the work that has been done with it, but I definitely think they are more like siblings. The second thing I wanted to do was put Swaine in a place, now that he has worked out a lot of his personal problems, to realize he subconsciously fills a role in the little family as protective big brother looking out for those darn kids. The third and final thing was to address the fact that Esther keeps calling Swaine a coward, which was ironic to me considering that she was the one with her courage stolen from her. It always got on my nerves in the game, like heaven forbid Swaine be a realist, can't you just be nice? So, three birds and one stone, here we go.

"I don't like the looks of this," Swaine muttered, eyes darting back and forth across the landscape. The sun was setting, casting deep shadows over the rocky hills north of Billy Goat's Bluff. So late already… If he had his way, they would have stopped for the night and waited until morning on the shore. However, the rest of the team was anxious to locate Xanadu and the queen who lived there, Khulan. Marcassin had informed them that she was the only one who might have a solution to their Mornstar dilemma. Apparently one extra night was asking too much time.

Esther, as always, was the first to respond. "For crying out loud, Swaine, don't be such a coward!" She looked back at him impatiently with a look of disapproval. He should have been accustomed to this look by now; he received it a lot. Still, even though it came from an immature, hot-blooded girl, it still stung every time. This was no exception.

Truthfully, his patience was about run out. Every time they went somewhere and he made a flippant comment about the risk of the situation, he was rewarded with the same judgmental word: coward. There were moments when he wondered whether he really WAS a coward. But then again, no, that couldn't be right. If he was a coward he wouldn't go along at all, period. So, what was it? He didn't have an answer, and he didn't need one in order to justify snapping.

"Can you not go three days without saying anything condescending like that?" he barked, stopping in his tracks.

She stopped too and turned to face him. Of course, she was further up the hill, so she had to look down on him a bit. "Can you not go three days without whining about the situation? Grow up!"

"Grow up?! Look who's telling who to grow up! You are so reckless!"

"I'm doing what I have to do to stop Shadar! What about you?"

By this time, Oliver and Drippy had stopped too, sharing an expression that plainly read "Not again…" Taking a deep breath, Oliver held up his hands. "Swaine, Esther, can't this wait? We only have so much daylight…" They fought often, but this seemed to be especially tempestuous. It felt as though someone had hit their breaking point, and it made him nervous.

"We wouldn't be worrying about it if we had stopped for the night like I suggested!" Swaine replied, trying to keep an even tone and not snap at the boy. Still, his foot was tapping furiously, the tell-tale sign that he was agitated.

"You probably only suggested that because you are afraid of the dark," Esther shot back, sneering.

That did it. "Fine! You go ahead and break your neck climbing around in the dark while this "coward" makes camp down here!" he shouted, face flushing. He turned heel and began descending in the direction of the beach. Esther just stuck out her tongue at him. She likewise turned heel and hurried to join Oliver and Drippy.

"What a big baby! He can just stay there for all I care! Let's go, Oliver."

Oliver looked uncertain as she marched past him. "Should we really leave Swaine there, Mr. Drippy?"

Drippy shrugged. "It seems we've landed in a one or the other situation."

"Well…Swaine can take care of himself, and he should be safe by the beach. We'd better follow Esther."

"Sounds like good logic, Ollie-boy. Off we go, then."

They hadn't taken two steps when they heard a female scream from above and the sound of rocks tumbling. "Esther?!" Oliver cried, looking around desperately for his friend. He and Drippy dashed further ahead, but in their haste, Oliver tripped on a stone. With ankle twisted, he went down with a yelp, landing on top of Drippy. The fairy's cry of dismay was muffled by Oliver.

"Oliver, heeeelp!"

As all of that went on, a blur radiating a faint spark dashed past, scaling the rocky hills nimbly. It finally came to rest on top of a cliff, whose sharp drop-off led to nothing but jagged rocks below. There hung Esther, grasping for dear life to the edge of the cliff, and there was revealed the form of Lenny, the Dumbelemur entrusted to Swaine. He chattered loudly and flagged someone downhill.

"Good work, Lenny!" A rough voice called back, its owner moving hurriedly but not frantically towards the hapless group. He stepped over Oliver and Drippy in order to get to the one in most dire trouble, but even then he did so cautiously, checking his footing as best he could in the dusk.

"I'm…slipping…" Esther's voice was filled with uncharacteristic panic.

"Just a little longer Esther, don't you dare let go!" He drew near the cliff where Esther dangled, but before he could grasp her hand and haul her up, the rock she was gripping finally crumbled. She screamed as she fell, and Swaine didn't give a moment's thought before he jumped after her.

It was all over in a split-second, and from his vantage point, Oliver could not see any of it. Swaine fell straight down so he could catch up with Esther while simultaneously pulling out his Rogue's Revolver and recalling Lenny. He grabbed her around the waist with one arm. He fired the grappling hook to a rotting tree on top of the cliff. The tree didn't hold their weight, but slowed them down enough that Swaine had time to call out Gunther, who stood at the bottom and caught them as they fell into his strong arms.

No one made a sound, no one moved a muscle as everyone's brains caught up to the current moment. Swaine was the first to react. "Ahem, thanks big guy, I owe you one," he patted his familiar on the back, and Burly Hurly let him and Esther down gently. He then released his grip on her, letting her fall to her knees, then clutched his heart, recalling Gunther. "God, fricking gave me a heart attack… I'm getting to old for this." He stopped when he heard sniffling. "Uh, Esther?"

She couldn't say a word. She held her hands to her mouth as if to stop the sobs, but she was shaking all over, and tears spilled from her eyes. He inhaled sharply. "Esther, are you hurt?!" It was all she could do to shake her head 'no'. He calmed down, understanding. "Shaken up. I get it. Shall I go fetch the crippled wizard, or do you want me to stay a little longer?" His voice had grown quiet, as if to keep from being heard by the others.

"I'm so…sorry Swaine!" she choked, bowed over so she wouldn't have to look at him in the fading light. "You were right…"

It caught her completely off guard when he laid a gentle hand on her back, having squatted down to her level. "Normally I'd rub it in, but this isn't the time." Something about the way he tried to calm her made the whole thing even worse. And…

"After everything…you…came running…"

He sighed. "How bad of a person do you really take me for? You really think I'd leave you when you are in trouble?"

"I…don't know…" She continued to cry simply because he was being so uncharacteristically nice, and he responded by rubbing her back, saying nothing. Heaven knew it was totally awkward, and he looked to the sky for some kind of divine guidance.

A few minutes later, as she began to calm down, he finally spoke again. "Esther, I hate it when you call me a coward." As he said this, he grimaced, as if the word alone had wounded him. "But every time you say that, I always wonder if maybe I am. Every time we are about to do something crazy, I hesitate. I didn't understand it at first, but I think I understand it now. You know what it is?" She shook her head 'no', so he continued. "I've been on my own for a long time, so I know how dangerous the world is. More than just avoiding bad situations to save my own skin though, I…don't want anything to happen to you or Oliver. I'm the adult, and it's my job to look out for you and keep you safe." He paused, contemplating. "Well, at least, safe from non-magical things. Anyways, when I say "I have a bad feeling about this", I'm the voice of reason that wants you to stop and think about what you're doing before rushing in. When I say "Let's make camp for the night", I'm thinking about how dangerous it is to hike around these hills in the dark. Do you understand, Esther? I'll jump off a cliff no sweat, but there are times being cautious is the best bet."

"Since when did you get to be a grown-up?" she murmured. She looked at him through tear-stained eyes. He was endearingly sincere, not the tiniest trace of a mocking smile or a hint of smug satisfaction in his eyes. He just looked tired, like he had been carrying additional burdens besides his own heavy ones.

"The grown up is in there somewhere, he just doesn't come out much," Swaine shrugged. This elicited a sudden hug from Esther. She could feel him tense, as if he would never have seen it coming in a million years, as if he hadn't been hugged in forever. Stumbling, he unsurely returned the gesture.

"You know which piece of my heart was stolen from me?" she asked from inside her embrace. He grunted his denial. "Courage. I was a shell who never left her father's side, never talked to anyone or did anything. When I got that courage back, I felt like I had so much lost time to make up for. I wanted to do everything, see everything. I wanted people to know that the brokenhearted me wasn't the real me. I…get carried away."

"I never would have guessed that ba-uh, bad guy…took your courage," he replied, genuinely surprised. "You are the bravest person I know. Well, you and Oliver. That's why you're such a pain in the arse to keep track of."

"Well, it makes me a hypocrite to say you have no courage when I was the one who didn't have any."

"No, because you had yours taken, it makes sense that you would be hypersensitive when other people don't use the courage they still have."

She let go and looked up, finally smiling. "That's generous of you, but either way I was wrong about calling you a coward. You may whine a LOT, but you've never once abandoned us, not even when we fought a giant wolf, a skeleton pirate, a candle ghost, and definitely that giant snake that I know you loved so much…" At the mention of Aapep, he visibly shuddered, earning a giggle from Esther. "So, I'm sorry, Swaine. I won't ever call you a coward again."

"I appreciate that, Esther." Before he could continue his thought, she interrupted with one more thing.

"You do know I will still make fun of you, even though that topic is officially off the table, right?"

He laughed. "Back at you. Now, I thought Oliver would have come back by now having healed his own twisted ankle, but I guess he's out of magicka. That or he wants me to give him a piggy-back ride down to the beach. What do you think?" He got up and dusted himself off, then helped Esther to her feet.

"Probably both. Let's go check on him."

Truth was, still lying back up the hill, Oliver had simply been too wrapped up in eavesdropping to heal himself. In fact, he would have forgotten about Mr. Drippy underneath him if Drippy hadn't been squirming so much. Hearing them coming, he blushed. Better just pretend he was out of magicka…


End file.
